The concept of play conjures the image of my three-year-old (and blonder) self, plastic shovel in hand, amorphous stains down the front of my pants. And certainly slobber. Lots of slobber. That three-year-old was certainly not concerned with social hierarchy or status, lacking a whiff of ambition to put the best version of himself forward. He played with a shovel in the sand because something needed to be dug and that was all that mattered.
As we age (and start to exhibit bladder control) the nature of play changes but is not altogether lost, at least not at first. Instead of digging in the sand, we might play a game of Twister, something I played as late as my college years. I challenge you to toss out that board on the floor—putting your head through someone else’s legs—and try and stay serious and stoic. It’s impossible. You’ll be giggling like a child. And that’s the point. We need more play.
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Play at Childhood’s End
Children learn early to regard play as something associated with kids. Long before adulthood, adult ideals influence and shape childhood behaviors, incentivizing more productive uses of time. We develop a sense of self based on how outsiders respond to our interactions with life’s ever-changing circumstances. And with this sense of self comes a tightly braided emotional attachment.
Playful interests, like gusts on the prairie, are harnessed to power and pursue definable goals. Children learn to value academic or athletic achievements, to sharpen skills for success later in life. Self-worth becomes entangled with output and yield. As adults, feelings of embarrassment prevent playful acts as we seek to protect our monolithic sense of self.
Sadly, this training takes place far too early for some. Potential outcomes include rigid and fixed ideologies and outlooks, narcissism, anxiety, and tendencies toward maladaptive fixes: drugs, alcohol, or excessive exercise. In extreme cases, the outcomes are tragic—researchers note a consistent and serious lack of play amongst mass murderers.
Scientific advancements in recent decades highlight the importance of play at any age. Play is necessary to enhance cognitive function, ward off depression and anxiety, and improve our emotional intelligence and social skills.
Work is necessary, and just as beneficial as play. Those who play and never work won’t find fulfillment any more than those who only work. The key, as adults, is to find the balance between work and play.
Assessing Play as an Adult
If you’d asked me years ago about play as an adult, I’d quickly point to climbing. On its face, climbing starts innocently enough for most. Taken by a friend to the gym or the crag, we climb wobbly-legged and maybe slightly terrified, but enjoy an otherwise fun and challenging time with people we like, fully immersed in the activity. But for many, something fun and recreational quickly becomes serious, eventually another form of productivity. We start to prioritize output and yield—just like at work.
Let me be clear: climbing is a wonderful sport. It has all the elements of recreational satisfaction and the healing balm of nature, but that does not in any way mean that everyone pursuing the sport is fully benefiting.
Someone cursing at the end of the rope, biting their nails, and throwing shoes is decidedly not playing. Alternatively, that person stringing up the often-mocked hammock and enjoying the company of their friends, top roping part of an easy route and calling it good nowhere near the top, is playing. When I began to examine the characteristics of many of my sessions, they leaned toward the former. Oof.
I’d argue that once we start classifying a movement-based hobby as athletic, we strongly risk incentivizing a work-based mentality. Athleticism, by definition, assumes some degree of competition, even if only with ourselves. Competition isn’t inherently a form of work, but if we summon feelings of frustration, irritation, or burden, we’ve left the play state. That said, an athletic, or work-based framework can still feature play, often in the form of unstructured “fun” days. But for many athletes, such sessions are far from ordinary and may not exist at all.
Up until very recently, most of my climbing resembled work. It’s no surprise then, given that I was balancing climbing with an actual job, I found myself so physically and mentally worn out.
“You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.”
Plato
What Play Looks Like
Play need not devolve to giggling and grab-assing, and there’s certainly no need to eat grass or put our fingers in our mouths. Someone in a playful state can even look serious, working diligently to complete a difficult task, completely absorbed in the moment. Writing, solving puzzles, or even difficult rock climbing can all be playful, a place of focus and process, of Zen. And yes, downright silliness still counts, but you’d do best to know your audience. But when one enters into a state of frustration, becomes concerned with outside perceptions, or is otherwise burdened, playtime is over.
Our childhood experiences offer key clues to adult play. What activities were naturally alluring as a child? What made time melt away as clouds and the sun passed slowly overhead or the stars wheeled in the sky? Preferences of yesteryear meant something then, and they still matter today.
How to Play
In short, I’m not sure yet. This is decidedly a work in progress for me. I have a strong tendency to begin tasks with a desired end product or goal, often failing to appreciate the creative act or challenge at the moment. Quick to frustration, I begin to doubt my worth at even the tiniest (and inevitable) snag. If I’ve made some headway, it’s in recognizing this tendency and trying to push back on my overly regimented ways. Here’s an example:
If you’ve invited me to your wedding, you know I don’t dance. I’ve always taken pride in my ability to logic or reason my way through life, as opposed to actually enjoying it. After a day of non-playful reading of articles and research on adult play, I found myself at a crossroads when my wife stumbled upon the music video for MC Hammer’s iconic Can’t Touch This.
At first, I stood stoically, disregarding the silliness of it all. But when Mr. Hammer began to glide sideways across the screen in pants best suited as sails, I knew I’d found my opportunity. I placed my nightly, regimented chamomile tea on the coffee table next to my blue light-blocking glasses and took a breath. In sweatpants, I said nothing and shuffled sideways across our living room. Our dog cocked her head and my wife erupted in the kind of laughter that only comes when I do something so decidedly unexpected and out of character, like the time I modeled our dog’s new jacket…shirtless. When it was all over, I walked upstairs for my nightly shower—ahead of schedule.
Source of Inspiration
Designing Your Life: How to Build a Well-Lived, Joyful Life (Bill Burnett, Dave Evans)
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Great episode! I need to see a video of you dancing like MC Hammer!
Thank you, sir! I don’t have a video of that, but I do have some glamour shots of me in the dog coat. Those will stay part of the Clipping Chains Private Reserve Collection.